Amen."
Then Cecil touched Lucas's brow with his lips, and said—-
"Fellow-soldiers, Brownlow."
"Brothers in arms," responded Jock.
It was one of those accesses of deep enthusiasm, and even of
sentiment, which modern cynicism and false shame have not entirely
driven out of youth. Their hearts were full; and Jock, the stronger,
abler, and more enterprising had always exercised a fascination over
his friend, who was absolutely enchanted to find him become an ally
instead of a tempter, and to be no longer pulled two opposite ways.
"Ought we not to say a prayer to make it really firm? We can't stand
alone, you know," he said, diffidently.
"If you like; if you know one," said Jock.
Cecil knelt down and said the Lord's Prayer and the collect for the
Fourth Epiphany Sunday.
"That's nice," was Jock's comment. "How did you know it?"
"Mother made us learn the collects every Sunday, and she wrote that
in my little book. I always begin the half with it, but afterwards I
can't go on."
"Then it doesn't do you much good," was the not unnatural remark.
"I don't know," said Cecil, hesitating; "may be all this-—your
getting right, I mean, is the coming round of prayers—-my mother's, I
mean, for if you take this turn, it will be much easier for me! Poor
mother! it's not for want of her caring and teaching.
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